Criminal Captive Sakura
by Person With Many Aliases
Summary: To be born Great, to become Great, and to have Greatness thrust upon you. A homeless girl was the last person to expect to amount to much. But sometimes, you just got to deal with having the fate of Japan in your hands.
1. A Better Tomorrow

Introduction:

There are a few reasons why I want to write this, and why this came about unplanned. For the most part, I feel like I haven't written anything of value in ages, and I'm quite angry at myself about it. So when this premise popped into my head, like any dozen of others that do when I think about a series, I just threw up my hands and said "Fuck this shit, I want to write ANYTHING before I die."

So this is really just off the top of my head, lightly plotted. Will write as far as I decide, the plot will go in a general direction, but we'll see how this ends up.

Other than that, this section has a unusually large number of "crime" fics. Of course, no insult meant to any previous authors, but I have to put a heavy emphasis on the quotations. There's a good fic that tried to overturn that, but it's kinda dead at the moment. Not like this'll help, I guess, but I'm putting my two cents up. Rip and tear, rip and tear. I'm probably writing for the wrong demographic.

Sheo, I hope you're reading this, because I'm certain no one else of the usual is going to...

* * *

**Person With Many Aliases Presents:**

**CCS: Criminal Captive Sakura**

**An Underworld Tale**

"**Card Captor Sakura" series property of CLAMP**

**Original Characters property of Authors Person With Many Aliases, Gaia_Cleaver**

* * *

_:The Spectacles Stained with Blood:_

_-_**A Better Tomorrow-**

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* * *

**

Having finished her first part time job, 17 year old Kinomoto Sakura stepped out of the convenience store, and breathed hard onto her palms to warm them up. She reached into the one of the pockets of her over sized winter coat she had changed back into, and pulled out a knit cap. Pulling the head wear down her head till it was covering her ears, she looked up at the gray and overcast afternoon sky.

Everyday that passed, autumn passed away and winter came sooner and sooner. Sakura wasn't the sort of person who would seriously say she hated anything, but when it came down to it, she definitely did not look forward to winter, every year.

The cold days and colder night she often had to stand out in, the Tokyo streets felt muggier and dirtier that time of year, the throngs people got more disgruntled, more weary, more tired, threatening to drag her down, too. Work seemed hardest on the days approaching Christmas, which she hardly celebrated, and alone most of the time.

And there was the time she caught that terrible cold, hacking and coughing and sneezing, and she thought she was honestly going to die. That was a few years back, when she didn't know better and still lived outside in the park grounds-

Sakura sighed, and shook her head. No point thinking about it.

"Things will work out, I'm sure." She whispered under her breath, unheard amongst the crowds of cosmopolitans and salary men that passed in front of her. She at least had a job, and a warm place to spend the night now. It wasn't like years ago...

Her first job was done. She had a few hours of "break time" to herself, before she went and became an under-the-table, artistic muse for Tomoyo.

Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Sakura joined the human mass of Tokyo's streets, an otherwise unnoticeable person, wearing aged and beaten clothes, and carrying just enough money in her pocket to buy lunch and a coffee a little later. Around her, the neon world of Tokyo's advertisements made her glow blue and pink at intervals.

* * *

It is said that obesity is linked to poverty. Sakura would have been inclined to agree, given that most of the time, the only thing she could afford for lunch was MacDonald's. Much of the time, it was take out as well. Sakura was well aware of what she was. She didn't need to be reminded of the fact, when seated customers, tried to eat their french fries and hamburgers while averting their eyes from her dirty clothed self, and the cashier worked on a plastic smile when she was forced to look at the hobo customer she was contract bound to serve.

Sakura could only sheepishly add that she'd have it on the go.

Sitting on the sidewalk, watching the cars and people pass her by, Sakura absentmindedly sucked away at the last of the coke in carton. Eating nothing but junk food certainly would come and bite her one day, she was sure. But she knew she would get fat if she didn't do anything about it. It was a good thing she was so much into athletics when she was still in middle school. Even after, she always made a conscious effort to keep moving, exercising, stay as trim as she could with the sort of life style she had-

"Sakura! Sakura-chan!"

A girls voice called to Sakura from the side, causing her to turn her head to the call.

Sakura immediately recognized the girl, with her thick braided pig-tails, and the high school winter uniform, and smiled, while standing up to meet her, "Chiharu-chan!"

"I haven't seen you in ages!" Chiharu exclaimed, and broke from the moving crowds. She ran up and stopped in front of Sakura. She was exaggerating slightly, of course, a month was sizable, but only eternal in the eyes of one teenage girl to another.

"Sorry, but you know how things are like for me..." Sakura excused light heartedly enough, tilting her head and shutting her eyes with mock shame.

Chiharu looked up and down Sakura, taking in the old clothes, before frowning.

"Sakura, are you still... living alone?" Chiharu seemed to have trouble admitting the issue, and settled on a euphemism.

"Well... yeah?"

"Sakura, you can't keep living like this... are you even making an effort to get help?"

Sakura had to arch an eyebrow there, "Help? Chiharu, it's not like it's a problem. I've got some jobs, now, even, and it's not like back then. I have some friends, I even have a place indoor to stay the night-"

"Sakura, that's not good enough. When I managed to find you again after you dropped out, you were practically _dying_ in a park. Can't you at least stay at my place? Or Naoko's?"

Sakura shook her head, "I can't. I don't want to cause you trouble. I've been fine the last four years by myself, anyways-"

"It's not about being fine," Chiharu tried to appeal again, "I'm your friend, Sakura, why would you be trouble?"

Sakura was quiet for a moment, the lower half of her face dug into the raised collar of her coat, before answering, "Friend or no, we haven't talked in a long time. Would your parents happily agree to shelter a deadbeat for years?"

Chiharu almost winced at the self-deprecation, but she couldn't find the right answer, "Well... that's..."

"You never told your parents about me, Chiharu. Bringing me home would be like suddenly bringing in a stray dog." Sakura shrugged, "It's not your fault. After middle school, we started living separate lives."

"It's not the same, Sakura! We're friends-"

"Chiharu!" A boy's voice suddenly cut in, before its somewhat lanky owner, with eyes that seemed shut, wearing the male uniform of the same high school as Chiharu's, managed to push his way through the populace that was moving in the opposite direction. Meeting up with Chiharu, he gave a mock sigh.

"Trying to dump me, Chiharu-chan? I'm hurt. And after all we've been together...!"

He would have continued, but he turned to Sakura with interest, "Ah, who's this?"

Sakura gave a quick look to Chiharu, who sighed, and accented to the change in topic, "She's an old friend of mine from middle school, Kinomoto-san. Sakura, this is Yamazaki."

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Chiharu." Sakura prodded, teasingly.

"Well, if we had been in contact more often, you would have been up to date." Chiharu snorted, hand on her hip.

"Ah, well, if you really want the truth, we're actually engaged!" Yamazaki cheerfully corrected.

Sakura blinked, "...Heh?"

"Indeed, Kinomoto-san. We're actually heading off right now to get rings!"

"W-What!?" Sakura really choked on that fact, this time.

"Chiharu-tan's just so shy, so she likes to say our relationship is low-key. I'm sure you'll be getting an RSVP soon-aieeegh!"

Yamazaki was cut short when his rubs were harshly nudged by his "fiancée"'s elbow.

"Never mind him, Sakura," Chiharu sighed and blushed loudly, and shifted her arm to raise it up and pull him down by the neck in a one-armed headlock, "He's an idiot that likes to make up stories whenever he can."

"I... see..." Sakura nervously laughed at the surreal display of her friend manhandling her... friend that might be a boyfriend.

Yamazaki managed to splutter out in the same laid back tone, regardless of the arm around his neck, "T-Tell me about yourself, Kinomoto-san...! Looking rather bohemian...! Any reason why you're dressed down at this time of day? Classes only just ended back at our school, dunno about how it goes for others..."

Chiharu seemed to tense up at the casual inquiry, that also was coincidentally fairly personal for someone like Sakura. The bohemian girl shrugged, the practiced lie coming out as easy as it had ever been.

"Oh, it's an international school. The time table's really different compared to local schools. Well, then, Chiharu-chan, I don't want to intrude on your plans, since we just met by chance. I also have to meet a friend of my own, too. Nice to meet, Yamazaki-san. See you later, Chiharu!"

"W-Wait, Sakura...!"

Chiharu turned around awkwardly to keep looking at her old friend that skipped past her, having half-forgotten she was neck locking her boyfriend. But she was half a second too slow. Before she could call again, Kinomoto Sakura was already merging with the crowds, moving away from her.

* * *

Amidst the chaos of the Tokyo streets, there were few places of respite. One of them was a small urban playground, nestled at the corner of one street block, a flat space that one could easily fall away from the sidewalk onto a bench for a few minutes of rest. At the far corner of the lot, pointed towards the depth of the block, a swing set, some beat up spring rocking animals, and a sand box. Placed next to this was a modest stone pavilion, with smooth granite furniture. It was the sort of building that was intended for old folks or parents to sit within, and watch their children or grand children mess about.

At this late afternoon, however, this playground was host only to one "child", who was waiting for one "old folk".

Sakura sat on one of the squat stone stools planted within the pavilion, while she braced her elbows on the edge of a table made of polished polished rock, her hands raised and clasped around a covered cup of coffee.

When he arrived, Sakura just met him with a pout.

"You're late, Clow."

From behind those pince-nez glasses, Alister Clow Reed smiled with his whole face disarmingly.

"My apologies, Sakura. My work today was unexpectedly... complicated. Did I make you wait long?"

Sakura tried to frown, but she couldn't keep it up at her unusual choice of friend's smile _enchante. _So she grinned, giggled, and waved it off.

"It's alright. You came, that's enough. What did you get held up with?"

Clow (When Sakura heard his first name, something so sort-of-plain like Alister, she decided to stick with calling him by his middle name, which just seemed to make more sense, in its own illogical way) smoothed out his dark overcoat as he sat on a stool across the table, opposite Sakura, while setting a brown suitcase atop the table. Opening it up with two deft clicks, he hummed his answer nonchalantly.

"Oh... it's complicated to explain right away. I'll tell you in a bit, but I presume you're up to our usual game?"

"Of course. It's why I'm here." Sakura answered, watching Clow remove a smaller case from within the suitcase. From it spilled the river laden battlefield and pieces for Chinese Chess.

It was hard to figure out how this friendship started. For Sakura it was pretty much an act of God that such a thing came about. Their was a gap between Clow and her in... well, pretty much everything. Age not withstanding, Sakura could see just as much that Clow belonged to some ridiculous corporate world, where men of the highest caliber made millions of dollars, drink tiny espressos from cups made of porcelain imported from Bolivia or somewhere, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, at five star restaurants, have a different girlfriend every other week, each of them a super model or idol or celebrity, and generally be friends with everybody important. Maybe even play Chinese Chess with them.

Not some homeless waif, under a pavilion in some playground in the heart of Tokyo, outside in the cold.

But they so happened to meet, resting their feet on the benches, some time that seemed long ago, in the foggy stretches of past memory, still disarmingly greeting her as if she were anybody else in the street, and then asked if she'd like to pass the time playing a game of Chinese Chess.

Of course, the first time, she lost miserably, after spending a half hour with Clow teaching her the rules of engagement. But Clow seemed entertained enough for the day, and he said to meet him again, here, tomorrow, for that day was a "curious and enlightening experience" for him.

Sakura humored him, and before she knew it, she began talking with Clow about everything. Whether, news, the price of vending machines, the inanity of idol singers, the brightness of LED screens, what was up with Baseball...

She found a strange friendship, a new block in her daily schedule, and sometimes it still baffled her, when she got back to thinking about how the whole thing started.

Of course, aside from what they brought to the table, Sakura knew as much of Clow as what she saw. She was only guessing she was some corporate executive or some other, a job invented by her imagination. They never talked about their personal lives. She hoped Clow knew as littler of her as she did of him. Then again, what was there to say about a 17-year-old bum with no great calling in life, or future.

Some way into the game, where Sakura's horseman was leaping across to attack Clow's left flank, pressuring him away from her pawns, Clow looked up at the gray sky.

"Autumn is nearly over..."

"I noticed. It gets colder every day." Sakura sighed.

"It's strange, how fast things change before you know they happen."

Sakura was hoping he wasn't making some sly comeback, verbally and tactically.

"Are you thinking of something, Clow?"

"Sort of." He gave one of those smiles again, "I think of human life, mainly. Have you seen a forest, Sakura? I don't mean those sparse, artificially positioned trees you see in the parks. Have you ever seen a forest that's so full and complete, it seems everything is just a tree?"

Sakura thought for a second. She remembered, when she was younger, before she moved to Tokyo, before Middle School, little vestiges of living in the countryside, where there was lots of trees.

"I might have, in the past."

"I suppose, so long as you have a reference. I was just thinking about how human lives and leaves are so similar. In the autumn, all the leaves fall. Then they're buried in snow. In spring, before you even realize it, in your sleep, it seems like all the leaves have reappeared, but they're not the same leaves. They're just new ones that look the same as the ones one treads beneath their feet..."

Clow rested his head on his hand, and looked to the side, out to the streets.

"...Sometimes, I feel like it's the same way with human lives. By the time your gone, people have already moved on, and they forgot you were already around, since by then you've already been replaced."

"That's a terrible way to look at things, Clow." Sakura frowned.

Her turned back, "Is that so?"

"Even if people disappear, I'd still try to remember them as best I can."

"I'm sure you'd forget, eventually."

"Well, even if I forget some things, I still remember my mother. Even if you go, I'd still remember you."

"I'm touched, Sakura. I remember, when we first met, you were flabbergasted and wondering if my existence was one big joke or dream."

"Well, I can't forget you, now. You... have had a memorable impact on my life, you know."

"I'm glad to know that, Sakura."

Again with that smile. Sometimes it was hard if he was smiling because he was happy, or because everything he took in was just a big joke only he knew the punchline to.

"Anyways! You should stop thinking about such depressing things, Clow, and play the game. You'll just live shorter, thinking like that, it's bad for your health."

"Very well, Sakura, I shall endeavor to live my life to the fullest, work out, sleep and rise early, eat healthy food, donate to charity, and beat you soundly like I usually do."

With that, he had a cannon on his side wipe out a unit that was a vital lynch pin to a trap Sakura was laying. She groaned loudly. There was no point hiding her feelings from the master.

They played for a bit longer, but Clow's fewer units were starting to soundly mop Sakura's army up.

At the intersection, a large van adorned with speakers and banners drove slowly through, prerecorded lines being regurgitated every five seconds.

"_Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen. The winter Diet elections are coming up. Have you cast your vote yet? If not, please make the most of your valuable vote, and vote for the United Nations Party. Thank you for listening... Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen..."_

"Hmm... have you ever considered voting, Sakura?"

Sakura shrugged, "I don't think it matters. I don't know much about politics, but I heard that that group has always been the one in charge of Japan, even before I was born. Besides, I don't even know if I can vote. I don't even know if I'm a Japanese Citizen, Clow. I don't even have a wallet, anyways."

"I see. Life free of votes sounds very relaxing. Though, to be precise, you should be saying "The UN Party has the most seats in the Diet", though I suppose you're correct in saying they're in charge."

"Hm."

"Either way, Sakura, do you believe your single action means so little?"

Sakura scrunched up her face, thinking if there was a better answer than what she gave already, "Well... like I said... I can't really do much, anyways. I'm just one girl, trying to make ends meet."

"Hm. I disagree with you there, Sakura. "Some are born great others achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them"."

"Uh..."

"An over quoted line from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Most people read it straight, but actually, it was intended as a parody, when a low-born servant believed he was just a romance away from a promotion in social status. While the parallels between Malvolio's condition and yours-"

"Ah ha." Sakura dryly laughed.

"-are coincidentally similar, I'd like to say that that the line would ring truer for you than him. You're a very shrewd girl, Sakura. It's why your better company than other people I've met. I'm very sure you would survive a situation where "Greatness" is thrust upon you."

Sakura brow beat her older friend, "I'm sorry... but the compliment was rather sudden..."

Clow shrugged, "Actually, Sakura, I want to talk to you about this complicated business I mentioned earlier."

All she could offer was a blank blink, given she had nearly forgotten about it.

Clow was silent for a moment, too, trying to gather himself, though all he could give out was sigh.

"Sakura, we've been friends for a while now, but we've both been polite enough not to pry into each other's business. But today, I have to ask you to forgive me, for I am going to be terribly selfish, and there might not be anything you can do about it..."

"...Clow?"

Sakura's brows clenched. The weary tone the bespectacled man took filled her with worry.

"Sakura, I suspect that today may be the last day I live."

"...What?"

"My... complicated business... I have to take responsibility for something, no matter what. When that happens, I don't know if I'll even make it to see the morning tomorrow."

Sakura frowned, confused, "C-Clow, what are you talking about?"

"Sakura, you're a very close friend of mine, and I don't know how many other people know it. Before anything happens to me, I need to at least make sure you'll be safe."

"What...? Safe? Clow, what have you been doing...?"

"Well... legal things, mainly, but what I'm going to do later may cause some trouble for some people. When that happens, I'm sure people inevitably will start looking for you. When they find you, and you don't have leverage... well, that's why I need to give you something to insure your safety."

Sakura wasn't sure if she was upset or confused more. She stood up, and slammed her palms onto the table, shaking the game in progress, "Safety...!? Clow, if whatever you're going to do is going to drag me into it-"

"I'm sorry, Sakura, but like I say, it's something I have to be selfish about, this time. It may be bigger than both of us. But I need to make sure you can protect yourself."

Clow opened up his briefcase again, the side swinging upward towards her, and blocking her view. For a second, Sakura's slightly outlandish imagination imagined he would pull a gun or a sword from within the cavity.

But the truth came stranger than her fiction.

"What the...?"

Clow slid a card towards her. Long and rectangular, it's height outstretched its width by quite a bit. Embossed and inked on its surface, in earthen brown tones that suggested great age, was a tarot like image, subtle and distinct. Depicted within, a sleeping woman, with what seemed like wings on her head, clutched protectively onto a heart, which was likewise winged.

Sakura read the short title engraved at the bottom of the card.

"**LIII – The Hope"**

"What is this?"

"Think of it as a magic charm from me to you. I'm a bit of an artist in my spare time. But it comes with a trade off."

"What?"

"So long as you have that, everybody will come looking for it."

"Who's 'everybody'?" Sakura couldn't help but frown at that.

"To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if I mean everybody in Tokyo."

"..."

"But, so long as you find a place to hide it, and tell no one, I promise that you'll survive the Greatness thrust upon you. But remember, you must keep this card safe, and don't let it be destroyed."

Sakura stared at the slip in front of her, before shaking her head.

"Clow, I don't understand..."

Clow smiled, "I suppose it won't make much sense now. So how about a bet. Keep this card with you tonight, and come back here, tomorrow as always, and we'll see what happens. If you're right, then nothing will happen. If I'm right, I'll have to ask you to protect that card."

Sakura looked down at the Hope card one more time, before sighing and holding her head, suddenly tired.

"Alright..."

"Thank you Sakura, for putting up with me. For my part, I promise I'll do whatever I can to meet you tomorrow. For now, I think we've talked long enough, you look tired."

Clow started packing away the Chinese Chess game. Sakura looked up with some surprise, though she wasn't sure why.

"Clow...?"

"Well, if I'm going to meet you tomorrow, we have to keep playing Chinese Chess. Just a little something to remind myself."

Sakura stood to look at Clow, who finished packing and closing his briefcase. Clow Reed nodded.

"Well, then. Sorry for suddenly bringing this up... let's just see what tomorrow morning brings us, then. Goodbye, Sakura. I hope you sleep well."

With that, Clow Reed stepped off the pavilion, walked out of playground, and walked along the sidewalk till he was out of sight.

Sakura continued to stand there for a few moments more, with the card held between her fingers.

* * *

It was 10 at night, when Sakura went back to turn in. Tokyo remained bright as ever, between all the LED lighting, though the sky above her was pitch black, with nary a star in sight due to the light pollution.

There was a strong night life going on here, with the same number of people on the streets around Sakura, if not more. Students bustling around, having finished homework, or continuing to escape it, salarymen who finished their grueling shifts and were blowing their paychecks on booze and hostess clubs, yuppies who wanted to have their martinis shaken, no stirred, at the latest and hottest club, and a hundred other stories for explaining why the night was young to them, it wasn't even twelve.

Sakura didn't want anything to do with it, however. After Clow left, after she left Tomoyo's place, all she could do was shuffle an hour away, mind completely caught up with what the older man had said, while the card continued to be hidden away in one of her coat pockets.

In the end, Sakura felt she couldn't do anything more than just sleep and end the day any way she could.

That's why, turning a corner, she found a small basement entrance in the side of fairly well lit alleyway. At the foot of this door, was a small sign in blinking neon, that announced she was about to enter the net cafe called "CHT! CHT! CHT!"

Entering put Sakura in a small hallway, door on the other end, with a booth and counter cut into the wall, where an aged man sat, wearing a plain T-shirt with no regard for keeping up appearances. Next to the booth, small square doors of lockers were planted into the wall, starting at a person's knee, and rising above their head, and took up all the wall space till it reached the far door.

"Evening, Watari-san."

"Good evening, Kinomoto."

"Is my stuff still in the locker?"

"You still got the key, right? It's not like I would throw out your stuff since you're a regular."

"Just checking. It's not like this place is my home, after all." Sakura answered simply, while pulling out several yen worth of bills and dropping them on a tray, while signing her name in. Which was the truth for the most part. While Sakura and Watari were familiar with each other, it was only because Sakura had been staying the night here for more than a year. At a professional level, CHT! CHT! CHT! had become a motel for Sakura. She provided a constant customer, and Watari, knowing she'd be back, was willing to overlook some standard rules. Normal customers were expected to turn in their backpacks at the wall of lockers, and retrieve them as soon as they left, but for Sakura, he let her leave in the morning with the key to "her" locker that hid her small duffel bag of personal possessions, knowing she'd be back at night.

"The shower's free, not too many people tonight. Your terminal number's 41."

"Thanks for letting me know. Good night, Watari-san." Sakura called behind her back as she started walking to the door of the internet cafe proper, while waving behind her head casually.

"Night, Kinomoto."

A shower later, and Sakura threw herself onto a small sofa that took up half of a miniscule cubicle, and pulled the curtain shut over the access. A small desk lamp had been been attached to the wall, and was pointed downward, leaving the cubicle, or "terminal" half lit, yet also covering the room with a shadow that made Sakura's makeshift abode a little more homey for the while it would last. Across the sofa, two shelves were built into the wall, one at stomach level to comfortably rest both a desktop computer, and a large television set next to it. The shelf above was lined with manga and movie DVDs. For all these, Sakura was too tired to even pay them any attention.

All she did was rub a towel across her damp, short brown hair, and wipe the grime out of her jade eyes. Indoors, where it was warm, she had shucked off her large coat, leaving her in a black, loose T-shirt, while she still kept wearing the same jeans she always had, (till it wore itself to pieces, anyways), while her bare feet flexed and relaxed on the carpeted floor, regardless of how clean it was.

Towel still draped over the top of her head, and lapping down her shoulders like some nun's habit, Sakura reached into her cast away coat to pull free the magic charm Clow Reed gave her. Holding it on one hand, she turned it a few times, before staring at the image of the girl holding that heart with wings.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers, Sakura supposed. But whatever she was supposed to do with such a thing as this card.

Tired, Sakura slowly fell onto her side, and lay on the sofa, staring at the card.

It's only a simple bet, in the end, Sakura hoped. She would hold it for Clow for the night, and tomorrow, she'd give it back and they'd play Chinese Chess as they always did.

That was what Sakura went to sleep, thinking.

* * *

Three in the morning was realm of very few waking people. Either people working overtime, or the graveyard shift, drunks who had lost any concept of time in their quest for the next open bar, delinquents who thought that staying up late was some sort of profound method of household rebellion, and all sorts of other undesirables. The witching hours for the scum and the villainous.

Li Xiaolang had to grudgingly admit he was probably a bit of an undesirable himself, in many respects, so he was more or less welcome to being awake at this time of the morning, too. But then Eriol (Correction, Hiiragizawa_-oyabun_, with much sarcasm) would laugh and say he was probably over thinking things.

Xiaolang fixed the scarf to keep it tight against his neck and mouth, trying to keep the cold out. Even more than the afternoon, the dead of the night was absolutely abominable. The dark blazer he was wearing over his equally dark dress shirt might have helped if there was wind, but for the most part, low temperatures were an invisible foe, trying to bring him down.

He shook his head fiercely, trying to clear his mind of his incessant whining.

_Keep it together, Xiaolang. You have more dignity than that. You're here for a reason...!_

Of course, the question is whether the person he was looking for would appear or not. While he was tipped off that the target was somewhere in this district, a seedier dive made of narrow passages and alleys, rimmed with cheap bars, knowing the general location only put him as far as wandering blindly, looking for someone who looked similar to...

He stopped by the dark entrance to an alleyway. Turning his head slowly to the darkness, he glared at it. Some people would have called what Xiaolang had, a 6th sense of sorts. He wouldn't know much about it, but his senses were honed, and his instincts had been right more than once.

Something important was in that darkness... but it could also be dangerous.

Xiaolang loosened his blazer a bit more, making sure there was a reasonable gap that showed off his shirt underneath. With that, he walked into the depths that were barely lit. Some distance in, he heard a troubled groan. Xiaolang walked a little faster at the sound, and his eyes started making out a body sitting, legs splayed across the ground, back resting awkwardly against the wall, hand clutching a stomach.

Xiaolang broke into a run, crossing the remaining distance in a few seconds, before kneeling down by the man. He couldn't make out much, beyond the gleam of sweat on his brow, and the glare of his pince nez glasses from the light at the entrance of the alley. Xiaolang's hand touched the ground, felt a puddle of something warm and sticky merging with his fingertips, and then he noticed the man's stomach turning rapidly darker as fluid seeped out.

Xiaolang quickly reached into one his pockets and fished out a photograph, and found the picture matching the man.

Dying at his feet was Alister Clow Reed.

Xiaolang wasted no time, and grabbed the man by a shoulder, giving him a firm shake.

"Clow Reed. Clow Reed, can you hear me...!?" He hissed.

Clow woke a little from his stupor, and turned his head towards him, "A-Ah... hello..."

"Where is it...?"

"Ah... I see... you're here to take it... unfortunately, you're too late..."

"What!?"

"Another gentleman passed by, an American... and well, he's already left with it..."

"Damn it...!"

Xiaolang was tempted for an instant to just leave the man there, and rush off after whoever had beat him to the punch. But the greater part of him was too good for that.

"I'll call an ambulance for you..."

Xiaolang reached for the cellphone in his pocket, but Clow's bloody hand raised, gesturing to halt.

"No... no... I've... already lost too much blood by the time... I got here... it's too late for me... you should... just do what you're here to do... Looks like I this is how I'll spend my last morning... heh... sorry, Sakura... but I tried my best..."

Whatever Clow was babbling about in his death, Xiaolang wasn't paying attention anymore, now being given express instruction by the man himself to leave him alone. Rising as fast as he could, the Chinese man leaped over the puddle of blood and rushed deeper into the maze of alleys, feet pounding the ground, chasing after whoever it was he was chasing.

_He doesn't know I'm chasing him. He'll take the most straightforward route away and out of here... just follow what you see first!_

The alleyways seemed to give simple directions. Garbage heaps blocked off certain routes, puddles of water elsewhere showed where someone stepped through. Eventually Xiaolang slowed down to a halt, stopping by a sharp corner that turned out of his view. Around the corner, the sounds of easy foot falls reached his ears. He hadn't heard his coming. With a deep breath, Xiaolang slowly crept around the corner, making sure his steps were light and unheard.

He found himself looking at the back of a man taller than he was, wearing a black coat, and a black wide brimmed hat atop his head. He walked casually and slowly, assuming he was alone. In his left hand, a briefcase was being rocked and forth gently, bumping against the man's leg.

Xiaolang continued to follow him as quietly as he could. The solution seemed simple. Before he made it back to the main street, approach him quickly and quietly, before striking him in the back of the head. While he was collapsed, get the brief case and-

"You know, I actually did hear you coming my way while I was leaving. I could hear your feet echoing all the way from here."

Xiaolang cursed and came to a halt at the same moment the man did, back still turned to him. They were still a few yards apart.

"I was hoping you were just running through here, but the moment you slowed down, I knew you were trying to come up to me unheard. So, what is it you want from me. Spare change? My autograph? Heh."

The man turned around, and Xiaolang saw he certainly did have the facial features of an American. The hat made it impossible to see his eyes, but Xiaolang could still make out the easy sneer on the man's mouth, while he held his free hand on his hip.

And he decided he already disliked this man, and all he was worth was a strong glare from his side.

"That man back there. Did you kill him?"

"Heh, judging by the look on your face, it seems like any answer I'd give would be the wrong one. Maybe I shot him, maybe I gave him CPR. But you don't really care about that guy, do you? I'm guessing you're after this?"

The coated man raised the briefcase he held.

"Give it to me."

"Well you can't have it," The black coat man chuckled, "And if you're thinking of mugging me, I'd ask you to reconsider and just go fuck off back home and study for your entrance exams or whatever the fuck you Japanese do."

"It's not a request."

"Yeah, well my answer's not a suggestion, either."

That was when Xiaolang reached inside his blazer and grabbed the handle. From around his back, he pulled free a machete that had been holstered behind his back. The blade gleamed dully in the weak alley light.

"You're going to leave this alley with only one hand, at this rate." Xiaolang growled.

That only caused the American to chortle, trying to fight himself from breaking down into uncontrollable laughter.

As Xiaolang walked forward, the coated man wheezed his response.

"Oh shit, the gook made a threatening statement and he's closing in on me with a shank. No one's here to see what's going to happen, how the hell am I going to defend myself-!"

The hand on the man's hip slipped back, and suddenly he pulled out an MP5K that he had been wearing on a strap between the inside of his coat and his side. The safety came off, and the muzzle bore down on the Chinese man's chest.

Xiaolang felt his heart stop for a second, before it heaved forward at his back pedaling, which turned into a series of lunging back flips that quickly carried him in retreat, while the racket of gunfire and bullets cracking across the pavement followed him till he rolled away and back around the corner, out of view.

"Little assfuck." The American snorted to himself, while he retreated backwards, firing the SMG with one hand in short bursts, keeping Xiaolang trapped behind the turn, while bullets ate away brick work and concrete. At a suitable distance, the American turned around and started running.

"Shit!" Xiaolang swore to himself, before jumping out of his cover, and began chasing after the gunman.

For the next five minutes, began a game where Xiaolang chased the other man for so long, before he suddenly turned around and opened fire again, with the former managing to duck behind dumpsters or doorways, and grit his teeth with impatience while gunfire sparked around him. When the man stopped firing, the chase would go on for the next few seconds.

Xiaolang finally got his break though, by the third time his opponent swirled about to cover his tracks with 9mm rounds. He was hidden behind a pile of discarded trash made out of broken microwaves, bicycles and what else, when the American fired his gun for all of two seconds before the gunfire was cut short.

The American looked at his empty MP5 with disdain, "I should have really brought the drum mag..."

Looking past his gun, he saw Xiaolang spin out of cover to rush towards him. Having no free hand to reload his SMG, the American simply let his gun fall back under his coat, and turned around to run as fast as he could, though his movements were still hampered by the package he was carrying. But with this protracted escape sequence, the two of them were only meters away from an exit into a main street, and they could both see the shining lights of pubs and street lamps.

With a burst of speed, Xiaolang leaped forward and tackled the American full on in the back, launching them both into the street. As the larger man coughed while slamming his chest onto the ground, his hand slipped on the briefcase, sending it clattering across the ground. Xiaolang scrambled to stand and run to the dropped case, but his opponent had already twisted around onto his back and quickly reached up with one hand, and grabbed a large fistful of the Chinese man's collar, keeping him in place.

Xiaolang snarled and stared death down on the American, while raising his machete high to bring it down on the face of the man he was stuck straddling. Before it even reached halfway, the American had caught the armed hand by the wrist, trapping it above his head. Xiaolang reciprocated by wrapping his other hand around the man's neck, squeezing as hard as he could on his windpipe.

The American spluttered and choked, but kept his arrogant grin. Around them, the few bums or after hour drunkards who were seeing this exchange backed away from the man struggling with another man over the very big knife, before turning tail and running at the violence, not wanting to have anything to do with it.

Xiaolang kept his furious gaze on the man, "What's so funny...!?"

The American choked another laugh, "You're a fucking idiot."

"What was that?"

"I said you're a fucking retard. I bet you didn't even wonder why I put suppressor on my gun..."

"What difference does that make!?" Xiaolang growled, not up for playing games, when he should be cutting the man's head open like a melon.

"A lot. I just woke up half of Tokyo with the sound of gunfire. You know what people do when they hear guns blazing...?"

Xiaolang realized what the American was getting at, just as the sound of sirens echoed in the distance.

"...They call the cops."

A police car swung into view at the end of the street, headlights shining, sirens blaring, the works. It drove towards the pair sitting in the middle of the road.

"Oh, whaddya gonna do now, Ninja boy? You're the one holding a sword to an unarmed man's neck. The fuzz are definately gonna chase the armed man before the suspicious man. How much longer do you think you can hold my neck?"

Xiaolang ground his teeth, realizing he was running out of options, trapped like this. The American played the most ostentatious card, and now had outwitted him with it.

Before Xiaolang could devise any further, the shoes of the American had worked their way around Xiaolang and slammed into his chest, throwing him off and onto his back, while the police car got even closer. The American rubbed his neck, before scrambling over to grab the briefcase.

"Enjoy your bail, you piece of shit..."

Xiaolang swore under his breath as he watched the man disappear into another alley, before jumping to his feet just as the patrol car arrived. The two police officers, in their drab uniforms, jumped out, pointing their fingers at him.

"Hey you! Drop your weapon!"

Xiaolang opted to simply turn around and run back into the alley he had launched himself and that damn foreigner out of.

"Stop! Stop damn it!"

The cops were too slow, though, unsuited to catch the man with the machete as he disappeared into the darkness.

Xiaolang swore he was going to find that man again, and the next time, he'd make sure the foreigner would be picking his teeth out of the floor.

* * *

"Kinomoto. Kinomoto, wake up already, it's seven. The casual customers are going to be here in an hour or two, I need to clean up."

Sakura grumbled half-heartedly, registering Watari's voice, before sitting up, dazed. Hair pointed in directions lopsidedly about her head. Looking around blearily, she looked at the closed curtain of her booth.

"Can you give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and check the news, at least?" She mumbled.

"Yeah, sure, just be sure to be out of here, soon." Watari's voice answered from the other side, followed by the sound of the internet cafe owner walking off.

Sakura grumbled a little, before her eyes turned to the desktop computer. Switching it on, she exited the booth, holding a tube of toothpaste and a tooth brush and getting her other business done while the computer wasted a few minutes booting up. When she returned, she was lazily rubbing the brush over her teeth. With her free hand, she called the Internet browser up, and typing in the address for the most popular news site, pecking about with her index finger.

Local weather, more of the same, restaurant promotions, troubles in countries overseas, election speeches, murder-

Sakura froze. She was trapped staring at the headline that appeared while scrolling down.

**Murder – Police Officers find body of businessman Clow Reed 3:40 AM this morning.**

And staring at this fact come true, her brain could only come to one conclusion.

_...What?_

Sakura continued, eyes wide and staring at the hyper linked sentence until it was burned into her, like the faint sensation of the toothpaste burning in her mouth.

* * *

Tokyo was a city that met the water in the form of a large bay. Naturally, with such a useful and calm body of water, it was home to a series of industrial docks, used for loading and off loading and the docking of everything from private yachts to giant cargo trawlers.

Of the many companies that went into shipping, one to know was called Queens Shipping. Its headquarters, warehouses, and docks were located on an artificial peninsula that jutted out into the waters, built entirely out of reclaimed dirt and concrete. It was a moderate import/export business, a Japanese branch of a larger shipping company worldwide, with the mother company based in London, England. This fact was just as much confirmed with the title of the company as well as the curious, but generally boring fact than a British man was the acting chairman of the company. His secretary was Swiss, too, but that's an aside.

Queens Shipping stored and procured a large number of products for a number of businesses for transit worldwide, from thing as mundane Pocky, to things as expensive as international orders for sports cars.

There were also the illegal things.

Indeed, Queens Shipping, while it had a legitimate business, had a much stronger influence in the criminal underworld as a middle man and import/export for contacts inside and outside of Japan.

Firearms from the United States, China, and Russia, Drugs to South East Asia, stolen cars back and forth between Europe...

And the hosting of mercenaries and cutthroats from around the world.

This was why the American had just exited a taxi in front of the main office of Queens Shipping. Slamming the door shut behind him, he listened to the vehicle drive off, and out of the main gate. Briefcase in one hand, and hat in the other, he looked up the front of the squat, wide building, sunlight revealing his short brown hair that was slicked back a little, to give way for his dull, brown eyes to look about.

He shrugged, before fixing his hat on, and headed on through the sliding doors.

An unmolested elevator ride up, and he was on the quiet top floor. Down the hallways, the coated man eventually made his way into a private lobby, punctuated with tasteless posters set behind glass windows, a few cushy gray sofas, and a secretary who was sitting behind a desk, typing reports on her laptop computer that had multiple accessories hooked up onto the USB ports. Like the vaunted British chairman, she was also a foreigner, with blonde-orange hair neatly cut short and went around from one ear to another. Looking up from her work, the American was stared coolly with her piercing blue eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Colt. Do you have an appointment?"

"Do I look like a person with an appointment, just go tell him it's me and I got it, already." Colt deadpanned.

The secretary wordlessly stood up, smoothed out her office dress, and passed through a clear of frosted glass double doors.

Colt grumbled and rubbed his neck. Twisting his head from one side to another, he elicited a few audible cracks from the abused area.

"Motherfucking ninja gook. I'm going to kill that bastard if I see him again..."

The secretary appeared again, before bowing slightly, "Mr. Lime will see you now."

She held open one of the glass doors, admitting Colt as he walked on through. The office had an entire wall made up only of glass for a panoramic view of the industrial bay and docks. Here and there, a potted plant was placed in a corner to liven up the squarish room. Sofas took up one half of the office, circled around a black coffee table. Perched before a wall lined with reports tacked onto a cork board, was a large oak desk, with a smallish man behind it.

"Yo, Lime."

"Afternoon, Colt. I hear you've already obtained it." Aloysius Lime spoke, not once looking up from the paperwork he was penning by hand. The Englishman wore a white dress shirt. He had a wild frock of blonde hair that seemed to take that shape naturally. A pair of rimless rectangular glasses took their place, shielding his green eyes.

Colt held up the battered briefcase, smirking, "So, about my bonus..."

"You'll have your bonus once I confirm we have the commissioned object." Lime retorted, scribbling away. "But there's no rush."

The secretary spoke up, "Would you like anything, Mr. Colt?"

"Well, might as well help myself to a free beer while I'm here."

"Would you like something local, or do you prefer something imported?"

"Don't really matter. I'm just kinda thirsty."

"Very well, I'll be back shortly with your beverage."

She walked out, and Colt whistled, and sat down in a minuscule sofa along one side of the office, setting the briefcase down on the table.

"I'll say, Geneva's pretty fucking useful for a secretary. Doesn't even blink at beer. Nothing like those pissy teenage interns back home. Is there anything she doesn't she do?"

"Mostly whatever I don't care for doing myself."

"Hm. Place seems emptier today."

"I've been redirecting the illegal shipments to affiliates elsewhere, as well as shipping away what I have already since I subcontracted you and the others for this job. It's a rather important task, so I prefer not to have my efforts dashed because some patrolman finds one of my containers is full of Methamphetamines."

"Heh, careful, aren't you? Well, don't matter. I'm sure you can get back to your wholesome, illegal way of life today, and get me my bonus and get me back home. Heh, I can see the look on Yasha and Ken's faces, beaten to the punch."

Geneva returned with a small tray, carrying a bottle of Asahi, and a glass. As she popped the bottle and expertly poured the beer into a glass, Lime waved Colt over.

"And you're confident, as always, Colt. Well, then, let's see it. Ms. Bradley?"

Colt sipped away, while Geneva took up the briefcase and carried it over to Lime, and turned it towards him, latches facing him. Opening the briefcase, he rummaged about its contents. He idly tossed away a few folders of files, and a plastic case-

"The fuck is that?"

Lime popped the lid of the smaller container, before answering simply, "Chinese Chess."

"Heh, of all the things he took with him to the grave."

"Yes, I saw the news. I wondered if you had anything to do with that."

"Like it has anything to do with this."

"No, I suppose not."

Lime reached into the briefcase, and then pulled out an ornately designed leather bound volume, on one side simply titled, "The Clow".

"The target named it after himself. Ah, the joys of Narcissism." Lime dryly noted.

"See, the book right there. I got it first, so..." Colt continued to prod.

Lime snapped open the latch that held the book closed.

"Oh come on- Huh?"

Colt did not expect his employer to pull tarot cards out of the book.

"It was on a need to know basis. The book is just a concealed carrying case. These cards are the objective." Lime explained, lightly waving the stack of paper at Colt.

"Fancy piece of shit. Bet it'd go down expensive for an art collector."

"Depends on the sort of art collector to be spoken of. Obviously a fan of Alphonese Mucha would appreciate this much more than one of Dali... One, two, three..."

Lime counted the cards. By the end, he froze, and a glimmer of displeasure flashed across his eyes.

Colt's previous cheerful veneer started to deflate, "Don't tell me..."

"It appears someone has already opened Pandora's Box before we have. There is only fifty two cards here. My contractor's intel informed me there was to be fifty three."

"Maybe he was fucking with you."

"I don't believe so," Lime answered, leaning back resting a cheek on a hand, "He seemed quite honest."

"So, what, then? One card missing. Just sell the rest of it to him."

"This job doesn't work like that. The objective was specifically for all 53 cards. We either deliver the full set, or we don't, and I won't accept half-hearted accomplishments. Tell me, Colt, this is Clow Reed's briefcase."

"It is." Colt frowned.

"The same as it was when you collected it?"

"Hey, I took the fucking thing out of his dying hands, and slept on the fucking thing all night, and I didn't even open the thing."

"Did you meet anyone else when you acquired this briefcase?"

"I was the first one there, and I kept hold of it the whole time."

"Who else was there, then."

"Some asshole with a sword, flipping around like a fucking ninja, but I scared him off."

"I hope it wasn't you and Ken fighting in the dark without knowing each other."

"Fuck you, we at least recognize each other. It was some fucking Japanese guy with a machete."

"I see. Looks like we do have serious competition over these cards then."

"So what now? All our efforts fucking up in smoke?"

Lime tsked, while reaching downwards and pulling a wooden case from one of the drawers of his desk. From it, he pulled out a pipe. Pushing dried tobacco leaves in, he continued to talk.

"We at least have the majority of the cards, and a starting point. Clow Reed separated one of the cards before you met him earlier today, and someone else is looking for it. Intriguing. I suppose it's time to start tapping the grapevines for clues."

"Tch, more work for us, then." Colt grumbled, before swallowing the last of his beer, and stood up.

"I'll give you half of the bonus. You gave me this much, at least."

"Dead asshole making a fool of me... Card better not be crammed up Godzilla's asshole or something..."

"I suppose you'll be returning to your place?"

"Of course." Colt shot back, "Tell me anything first. I'm not gonna give ground to those other two losers you hired."

"Very well. Try not to destroy Tokyo in a fit of rage, Colt."

The American was already stomping off, while Lime smirked lightly and raised his pipe to Geneva.

"How do I put it, Mr. Lime? Your friend is... a cowboy. Can he be trusted to do his job?" She asked politely, while striking a match and lowering the flame to set Lime's pipe alight.

"His method is unorthodox, but that's why he's been effective so far. This job may be a more precise than he's used to, but adapting is his job, not mine."

Lime breathed out smoke, before holding a card and lifting it up to look at it, one called The Dream.

"If only a little butterfly could whisper to me where The Hope is..." Lime wondered, before shrugging, "Well then, after we finish getting rid of the Methamphetamine, schedule an appointment with Ms. Ichihara, I'm sure she'll already know something by now."

"Very good, Mr. Lime." Geneva Bradley nodded, before closing the empty briefcase, and sliding it off the desk and into her hands, "I shall dispose of this, too, then."

As Geneva walked off, she heard Lime speak up again.

"Geneva?"

"Yes, Mr. Lime?"

The Englishman held up the small plastic case in one hand, "Do you know how to play Chinese Chess?"

"I would be open to learning, sir."

"Good, it would be a waste to throw it away. Games are to be played, after all."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

_The Spectacles Stained with Blood:_ **A Better Tomorrow

* * *

**

Next Feature:

_Nobody's Culture Shock at Becoming Somebody__**:**_** Tattooed Life**


	2. Tattooed Life

A/N: What a stupid chapter.

* * *

_:Nobody's Culture Shock at Becoming Somebody:_

**-Tattooed Life-

* * *

**

Sakura was not a stranger to death, for sure. Years back, Sakura's mother had passed away sooner than anyone would have expected, and it was an event that changed her life. But the actual memory of the event was a tinted fuzz that Sakura could no longer attach any more feelings to, aside from a nostalgic melancholy.

In a way, while Sakura was not a stranger, she wasn't really familiar with death, either. When was the time she had ever keenly felt a sense of loss, from somebody she knew very personally. Death in the childhood was one thing, death that one meets at an age where one remembers was the other.

Shock was inevitable.

In a pavilion in a playground, Sakura had been sitting for several hours, her brain numb for the better part of the day. She had even missed out on her usual shift at her first job, simply because she had stopped thinking about it. So she sat, staring blankly, unnoticing of the afternoon chill, while Clow Reed's card remained clenched in her hand, which was stuffed in her coat pocket.

Clow was killed, like he himself had guessed he would be. He was dead somewhere, and Sakura didn't even know till it was too late, and she wasn't sure if she'd even see him as a body again. Her last memory of him would be as a web article on a news site.

But that wasn't the part that troubled her the most. In the back of her head, she realized, Clow had _expected_ this to happen, and sooner or later, his other expectation of everybody in Tokyo coming after her might come true, too. It was a horrid surreal thought, that she was somehow thrust into all this something without even realizing the enormity of her situation.

She had images of shadowy faces, a whole shadowy mob within the crowds, unseen, following her since this morning.

Over what? An amateur artist's tarot card.

She couldn't understand any of it. It was all too unreal and ridiculous, and Sakura was very much convinced the whole thing was just a ridiculous farce. She was betting Clow was fine, even. After all, all she saw was the news article, not the man himself. It was probably some mistake.

Sakura sat in the pavilion, staring out at the entrance to the playground, waiting, hoping that Clow would arrive, and they could get back to their normal schedule.

Just a few more minutes. He'd be here before she even knew it, just you wait.

...

_Please come, please come, please come, pleasecomepleasecomepleasecomepleasecome, oh god, don't be dead...

* * *

_

Closer in the heart of Tokyo, where the metropolis was dominated by company buildings and high rate hustle and bustle, was a set of offices used by the Hiiragizawa-kai syndicate as their headquarters for "public relations".It was a modest set of offices, a few floors up, the front entrance marked by a headboard logo at the front entrance that held their noticeable, but not blatant, family crest. (The symbol was that of a sun, partially framed by a crescent moon in an opposing color.)

While the Hiiragizawa "family" had existed in years previous, with an unexpected early retirement of the last head, the syndicate had decayed until it reached a point of quasi-suspended animation, existing only in a official sense.

A few years ago, the next in line Hiiragizawa patriarch returned from university in England, and reclaimed leadership of the group. With him, the Hiiragizawa-kai continued its modest existence in public, neither advertising nor hiding from the populace, for they liked to believe they were a valid pillar of society, albeit perhaps a dark one. Hiding in cellars and basements was the act of insecure, common thieves.

Of course, this was all Eriol's talk to Xiaolang. As far as he was concerned, despite what his friend (boss) said, working out of a refurbished office or working out of a secret lair behind a bar, like in bad spy fiction, didn't change he was still the one dumping very bloody garbage bags into the river, or beating a man's face into a pulp in a back alley to drive the point that he's a bit _late_ on his payments...

Well, either him or his cousin.

Freshly dressed in a new set of blazer and shirt, Xiaolang exited the elevator, walked a short distance through the hall, and made his way into the working offices. It looked like any other, desks flush against one another, or against the wall, files and folders splashed all over the unused tables, computers lining some desks, phones strategically placed about.

All in all, it would have not been out of place, if it weren't for the sound of flesh and bone being pounded into a fine pulp coming from behind the door to the oyabun's private office.

Smack.

"_What was that, huh! I don't think you sound nearly sorry enough!"_

Smack. Smack.

"_Did you really think we would overlook this! You should be thankful we're only doing this, 'cause you're too stupid to live!"_

Xiaolang sighed. That was definitely the voice of his cousin. Crossing the room to the closed wood door, Xiaolang opened it to find the sight he sort of was expecting.

Blue-haired Hiiragizawa Eriol-oyabun, sitting behind his large desk, eyes closed placidly behind his glasses, wearing one of his usual expensive designer suits. Fingers steepled, he listened to the exchange at the foot of his desk like it were fine classical music being played on gramophone.

Lounging on a couch on the opposite end of the private office was Akizuki Nakuru, one of Eriol's two lieutenants. Leaning back, she had her hair brushed to one side of her neck, letting the brown locks spill over neck and shoulder, over her dress made out of wine red and black colors. Even with her relaxed position, she was watching the whole thing with much amusement.

There was another man Xiaolang didn't recognize. A fairly fat man, with a bit of a pudgy face to make sure the weight was distributed evenly across his body. He certainly wasn't dressed anything half as swank as any other occupant in the room. Whatever reason he was here, he was clearly trying to keep his stomach at the sight of the violence.

The victim dressed in expensive hipster clothing was lying on the ground, his hands tied behind his back, while his head was covered in a burlap sack, probably to keep the bloody mess from getting onto the floor.

Where this man was on the ground, Li Meilin was standing above him. It was hard to imagine someone like her was in the Hiiragizawa-kai. Her white denim jacket, short skirt and stockings made her look like a high school student during a weekend, but it was undeniably her sneaker firmly planted on the side of the fool's covered head, keeping him pinned where he was.

Eriol opened his eyes, and turned to the new presence, completely ignoring the fact that a "Ah, Xiaolang. So nice that you could make it."

"Hello, Hiiragizawa-oyabun." Xiaolang nodded with his head.

Eriol gestured to Meilin, who removed her foot from the beaten man's head, and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt so he was kneeling on his knees. Meilin pulled the sack up the man's head enough to expose what was left of the man's mouth. The hipster spat out a few bloody teeth, before whimpering pathetically. Eriol finally actually looked at him.

"Now, I'm sure we're both gentlemen. I know we've had a bit of trouble understanding each other, but I believe we've reached an accord. So, I believe you have something to say?"

"M...mpghelgh..."

"Hey, be courteous. Speak english." Meilin growled, acting.

"...sorry...?" Came the pleading whisper, barely able to talk with the state the man's mouth was in. Eriol decided he needed to twist the knife a little more.

"I'm sorry, you're going to have to speak up." Eriol spoke.

"S-sorry..."

"Sorry for what?"

"I-I'm... sorry for messing with your businesses..."

"I'm sure you feel sorry now, but please, you should rather be apologizing to Tamura-san. Think of all the trouble you and your friends put his restaurant through."

The bloody mouth was twisted in the direction of the fat man, Tamura, who grimaced a little, while listening to a blubbering apology, the beaten man swearing he'd "never do it again", and "he didn't know".

Eriol rubbed his hands, smiling guilely, "Well, then, it's nice to know we all have an agreement. Tamura-san, hopefully you won't have to be forced to sit through this display again, but remember, since you're under our protection, if you have any trouble, don't hesitate to call."

"Y-Yes, Hiiragizawa..." The fatty sweated a little.

"Very good. Well, I have some business to attend to with my associate," Eriol motioned to Xiaolang, "Meilin, I hate to continue being a bother, but could you dump the trash in a back alley? Akizuki, please escort Tamura-san outside."

The two women nodded. Meilin left first, dragging the limp, bloodied man across the ground, hand still wrapped around the back of his shirt.

"Hey, let's have lunch later!"

"Sure, Meilin." Xiaolang answered offhand, moving out of the way as she passed through with Eriol's trash.

"This way, Tamura-san. We'll be taking another elevator."

The fatty left, guided by Nakuru, who gave a quick, friendly wink to Xiaolang on her way out. He shrugged at that.

That left the two men.

"Who's the cow?" Xiaolang asked, shutting the door behind him, before moving to one of the couches.

"Funny you should say that. Tamura-san's first name is actually Inokichi. He comes off better as a pig, rather. He's the owner of the family restaurant on our west side area of operations."

"What was that about?"

"Well, you heard most of it already. Some amateurs thought they could start exacting their own "protection dues" from the establishments in our area. But they lacked the same finesse, so when they started getting overly violent, the owners complained to us."

"Do we know these punks?"

"It was Ryutodo's people again."

Xiaolang groaned loudly at the name.

"Ugh. Eriol, I keep telling you, you need to drop the hammer on those guys and get rid of them. He's too retarded to take a clue and quit, you know."

"I understand, Xiaolang. I wish I could, I really do. But there's some inter-family politics that makes it difficult..."

"Politics?" Xiaolang said with a raised eyebrow, clearly in doubt and clearly unfamiliar with the subject.

"The other families are still scrutinizing us since we're the new kids on the block, and especially because I'm young. Giving a great show of force on a comparatively small gang like Ryutodo's would only give the impression we're so weak we have to take him seriously. I hate to say it, but to keep the other families out of our place, we'll have to try and wait out Ryutodo until something or somebody else can deal with them for us."

"That's stupid," Xiaolang snorted, "If even we have to act like dealing with them is below our station, then what are the chances of anybody else doing that?"

"I don't know, but being able to stand with the other yakuza is the priority here. We just have to be patient a bit longer with that group. But that aside, we're here to deal with what happened earlier this morning."

"I already told you everything I know."

"Yes. Your little fight with that American..."

"Eriol, he was after that book, too. It wasn't some one off thing, either. He knew what he wanted, and he knew it was important enough to fight me over it, nearly to the death. What is it that's so important about it that someone else was also after it?"

Xiaolang was convinced _oyabun_ knew something, but Eriol simply shrugged helplessly, "I only know as much as you do at this moment. The book's a piece of art that could be fetched for a high price. The Hiiragizawa-kai is always in need of more revenue. Perhaps your American friend was a crook who also had the same information and was willing to spend a little extra on firepower to get what he wants."

"Is a piece of art something worth killing over?"

"If its for money, then I can imagine."

"But even killing Clow Reed...?"

"...I don't know. But how in character do you think it would be for the American to kill Mr. Reed if he was being troublesome in handing it over, given what you've seen of him?"

"I don't know much about this man, but he did have an easy trigger finger. What are we going to do about it now, oyabun? Should we give up the book?"

"Actually, no. I'm sure whoever he was, he hasn't sold it yet. If we can find out more about him, we can get it back before it's too late. I already sent Tsukishiro over to the shop to find out what he can."

"Then why am I here?"

"Oh, to wait for the phone call."

* * *

"What."

_"Hello, Mr. Colt. This is Geneva Bradley."_

"And?"

_"Mr. Lime said you wanted to be contacted first in the case of any new leads, since you want to spearhead this operation."_

"He got something for me? Shoot."

"_I've emailed a photo and address. Did you get it?"_

"Checking... who's this?"

_"Mr. Lime would like for you to extract the subject as soon as possible. It might be a lead to the missing portion of the objective."_

"Ugh, I suppose you mean now-now. Masked Rider was about to come on."

_"...Kamen Rider?"_

"You got a fucking problem with what I watch?"

_"Of course not, but there is going to be a car arriving in about half an hour with three men and some equipment. Use them as you see fit."_

"Gah, fine. I'll call you back when I got it."

* * *

Xiaolang decided he would rather wait outside. He remembered there were _reasons_ for why, while he was grateful to his friend for all the things he's done for him, it was also highly advisable not to socialize with him either.

Back on street level, with the grim and burnt cigarette stubs crushed underfoot, he loitered. If it was a waiting game from here on, the Hiiragizawa enforcer knew better ways to waste time, and the further he was from his boss-

"Heeeey, just the man I wanted to see...!"

The slippery voice sent a volt of rage down the back of his neck, and Xiaolang cursed his bad luck of running into him, of all times. With every ounce of his energy, he turned about slowly, though he didn't bother fixing any pleasant expression on his face.

"Ryutodo-san." Xiaolang noted the man's existence. Just looking at him was painful, the burly body, face encrusted with piercings and bleached blonde hair. He still wore gaudy suits that even Eriol or Nakuru wouldn't have been caught dead in. He at least had the decency to approach Xiaolang alone. Or maybe it was because he was too pathetic to even afford the flunkies.

"Please, man, please. It's Daigo. I think we know each other enough to no bother with that formality...!" Ryutodo Daigo smirked, sauntering up to the other man.

"Look, what is it that you want?" Xiaolang sighed heavily.

"Hey, I just wanted to talk. I heard about the trouble some of my boys started for you-"

_Trouble you probably ordered yourself._

"-And I just wanted to say how sorry I am this whole thing started! Really! I taught those assholes of mine a few lessons in cordiality! I even made them cut off bits of their pinkie, just like how you guys do it!"

And there it was. Daigo freely admitted he wasn't even a loser yakuza, just a loser who was in love with the idea of being one.

"I'm thrilled to hear that." Xiaolang dryly replied. Daigo didn't seem to pick up on it, as he went on.

"I mean, really, I wish there was a better way to avoid this senseless fighting. You know the best way we could fix this, Xiaolang?"

_You mean, aside from wiping every last one of you out?_

"No, why don't you enlighten me, Ryutodo."

"Wouldn't it be best for everybody if you let me into the fold, man? I know Hiiragizawa could use a man like me, plus the manpower. You're one of Hiiragizawa-dono's close buddies right? Can't you put in a word for me? I'll make it worth both your time to let me in! Think of all the contacts I have!"

Xiaolang wasn't sure how much more pathetic this man could get, simpering and lying. His eyes looked to the side for a second, almost turning into a full revolution within their sockets, but he simply responded as plainly as he could.

"I would ask Hiiragizawa-oyabun, but I already know what he'd say, or rather do."

"What's that?"

"Laugh out loud."

Ryutodo's charming expression promptly fell into a deep scowl.

"Hey, fuck you, Xiaolang. Hiiragizawa needs someone like me."

"All he needs for you to do is go away. You're just glorifying yourself, but all your petty gang is, is just a collective pain in the ass for all of us."

"You'd like to think that, huh! Is that jealousy I smell off you, Xiaolang?"

"Excuse me?"

"You just don't like the fact that Hiiragizawa keeps me around because I'm useful!"

"Ryutodo, the only reason he hasn't wiped you out is because it'd make him look stupid in front of the other yakuza. That's all you are, an embarrassing stain that we try to hide under the rug, so piss off."

Ryutodo obviously was not used to being spoken like that very often, and his scowl turned into a wild explosion of rage, followed by posture of the rest of his body.

"Fuck you, you asshole!"

The commotion caused the street goers about them to turn in their direction, before starting to avert their gaze, while people made an effort to pass them by at a distance.

"What the hell do you know about being in the yakuza, you fucking chink piece of shit! You're not even Japanese!"

"Well, there is the whole thing about me actually being in one." Xiaolang glared back, his own rage beginning to bubble under his neck.

"Hah! What the hell does that mean to anyone!" Ryutodo sneered, "You're just a fucking chink, a handyman who works outside the group. I don't care what Hiiragizawa says to the others, if I were in, he wouldn't look at a fucking outsider like you twice. Hell, I bet the only reason you even get work is because of your whore cousin."

_"Excuse me?"_

"That's right! You're fucking cousin is hot is the only reason you're even in the Hiiragizawa-kai. I bet every night, your boss fucking finds her waiting on his bed, legs spread like the fucking-hglrruk!"

Xiaolang's hands found themselves around Ryutodo's collar, and balled themselves up in the fabric, cinching it tight around the street gang leader's neck. While he was still choking, Xiaolang swung him to the side, slamming him into a vending machine with a loud crunch. That caused all the bystanders to completely disperse away, for fear of getting caught up in a beatdown.

"Listen, _Daigo,_" Xiaolang growled, "I don't care about what you say about me, but saying something like that behind Hiiragizawa-oyabun and my cousin's back is crossing lines you shouldn't be even thinking of. They're the only family I got left, and I won't for some two-bit piece of shit like you getting a word in like that. This is the last time I'll say it, as a member of the Hiiragizawa-kai. We don't want you, like you, or need you, except for you to stop messing with us. Eriol might too busy to deal with you, but I'm not! If we meet again, I'm sure there's going to be an accident...!"

Xiaolang slammed the man into the vending machine again for good measure, before letting Ryutodo crumple onto the ground, hacking and coughing. As he rubbed his neck, Daigo hoarsely shouted at Xiaolang's back as he marched off.

"Fuck you! I don't care what it takes! I'm gonna get in with Hiiragizawa, and when that happens, I'll kick you stupid chink ass out! You'll regret this, Xiaolang!"

* * *

Sakura's "second job" couldn't really be called that, even if she was being paid under the table. It was more than a job. Just being with Tomoyo gave her a confidante and friend, like no other. It seemed that in living in the big city as long as she did (or perhaps in spite of it), Tomoyo came to possess a worldly calmness that left her unable to be fazed by anything. Even if you were to tell her that the world was ending tomorrow, or that the new World War had arrived, all she would do was tilt her head, clasp her cheeks, give a polite gasp and say, "How terrible."

Some people would call it apathy, but at this point, having someone listen to Sakura without playing up the pity or the emotions was a godsend to her.

Daidouji Tomoyo lived in the upper half of an upscale high rise apartment, the type that just screamed the wealth of its occupants even from the outside. It was a sort of "present" from her mother when she decided to make it on her own.

Tomoyo's apartment was essentially one giant studio room, seemingly created to her own specifications. Aside from the bathroom that was located behind a door, one that was no less swank than the room outside, everything else, kitchen, tables, desks, chairs, were all stuffed and flush against the three walls of the flat, while the bed was on a raised platform that lined the back wall, which was really just a massive window that gave a beautiful panoramic view of Tokyo's skyline, which was rapidly approaching sunset.

As for the interior of the room, it was entirely dedicated to Tomoyo's dreams and fantasies.

That is to say, fashion design. The entire center of the room was a somewhat chaotic mess of self supporting clothes racks and mannequins that wore various prototypes of Tomoyo's wild imagination, all of this somehow organized on an internal logic that only their creator understood.

Perhaps Tomoyo wasn't apathetic. She simply just had her passion bottled up and used on the things she cared about.

One of them was Kinomoto Sakura, of course, her "muse". Since they met, once upon a time in a park, Sakura had served as Tomoyo's covert model, wearing her designs for study, and having designs made for her in mind.

Of course, Sakura got paid for her trouble, but it wasn't about the money. If Tomoyo just cared about having a human body to prance around in her clothes for her amusement, she would have just hired someone for it. Tomoyo _needed_ Sakura to complete her designs.

It was a very odd friendship, for sure. Sometimes, Sakura thought to herself, she sure knows how to pick'em.

Tomoyo, regardless was someone she could trust. That's why she came to her.

Sakura sat on the floor, seated behind a low table that Tomoyo had set up closer to the bed when she arrived, needing to talk. She glumly looked down at The Hope that was flat atop the center of the table.

Just then, Tomoyo reappeared, wearing a plain dress, and carrying a tray with a steaming kettle and cups.

"Sorry for making you wait, Sakura-chan. I brought the tea."

"Thanks..."

"It's no problem!" Tomoyo smiled gently. As she put the tray down, she pushed the card aside, before picking it up to scrutinize it more carefully.

"This is the card Mr. Reed left with you?"

"Yes..."

"Hm..." Tomoyo flipped the card about a few more times, before shrugging, "It seems normal... what did you friend mean, saying it's so important...?"

"Tomoyo, what should I do? If Clow is right, then... people are going to chase me!"

"Sakura, why haven't you considered going to the police over this?"

"I don't know... I don't even know if they'd believe me. We kept our friendship pretty secret. Would the cops believe that someone like me was Clow's friend? Not only that, if I said I'm _going_ to be chased by people I don't know, over a card that I saw Clow gave to me? They say that Clow died over a mugging..."

Tomoyo hummed, pouring tea, "You're right... it does sound unbelievable for most people..."

"Then what am I supposed to do? What if Clow's right, then...? People chasing after me, and I don't even know why..."

"You're not alone, though, Sakura."

Sakura stared at Tomoyo's pleasant smile.

"T-Tomoyo, I can't get you mixed up with this! This... it's my problem!" She stammered.

"Come, come. If it was your problem, then why bring it up with me? Did you think an artist would sit still while her muse tells me of her problems? How could I possibly continue my own work when dear Sakura-chan's given me artist's block, worrying about her?"

"This isn't something to joke about, Tomoyo..." Sakura almost growled, "My friend's _dead."_

"Well then, I suppose I shouldn't either. Sakura, the safest place to stay at right now is right here, at my place."

"How is it safe...?"

"Well, anybody in Tokyo should know my family name... at least because of my mother."

"I don't know."

"That's why you're so special and close to my heart, Sakura."

"Tomoyo..."

"Ah, sorry. I'm trying to say is, if your mystery people really are coming after you, they should at least know that barging into my home will actually be quite dangerous for them in the long run. That's why you should stay here for now, Sakura. Tomorrow, I can start using my name to ask around-"

"Tomoyo, I can't make you do all this for me...!"

"Really, Sakura, if we're being serious here, how much do you hope to uncover on your own?"

Sakura couldn't answer that.

"If your friend wasn't killed in a mugging, then we're in a murder mystery, and you'll certainly be in trouble then. The only way through this is to get to the bottom of it, and find out who killed Clow. Then we can definitely figure out what to do then. Understand?"

"You don't really mind me staying over for the night?"

"Of course not! You'll stay here until it's all over."

Sakura released a breath that made her realize how relieved she was, and she gave an exhausted, grateful smile, "Thank you, Tomoyo..."

"It's the least I can do for a friend, Sakura. But I'm certainly not going to stop there."

"Heh. Though, Tomoyo... I need to get my stuff from the Internet cafe I was staying at..."

"You can get that tomorrow. Right now, you need to sleep."

* * *

To those that knew it, it was only known as the Shop.

It was the wellspring of all information, from which only the courteous, polite and trustworthy customers were allowed to be scrutinized as to whether they were worthy of drinking of it or not. The Shop's owner was aptly called a "witch", for it seemed magical how there was nothing in Japan that she did not find out, and before anyone else.

For people who did not know, one of the biggest mysteries was where the Shop was. There had been many attempts in the past by weakling Yakuza and gangs, trying to make a name for themselves trying to find the fabled home of Japan's most famous underground informant and bend her to their will. Of course, this always ended with highly hilarious failure at their expense. For the most part, those who were not in the fold, and not stupid, decided the Shop was just some elaborate ploy, cooked up by someone in the past, for whatever conspiracy theory one likes.

It is very real, regardless. Just the only people who knew how to go there were the ones who already knew where it was.

It was not an elaborate underground base, not a fancy high rise apartment funded by the Shop's owner's money made in tattle-tailing, not an illegal underground train that berths in an abandoned Tokyo subway station, not in a military base, and certainly not hidden away on an island off the coast of Japan.

The Shop was simply a shop.

This was why, Tsukishiro Yukito, being a man who knew where the Shop was, and often did business on Hiiragizawa-oyabun's behalf in this matter, turned a corner in an obscure corner of Tokyo's neighborhood, and passed through the front doors of an obscure pawnshop with some name on a headboard that was simultaneously catchy yet empty.

Inside, Yukito pulled his coat off the almost mandatory Yakuza suit. Pacing past the glass encased displays of jewelry, clothing, and purse-wear, Eriol's 2nd lieutenant arrived at the counter. There, a girl several years younger sat, intently reading a tasteless gossip magazine. Large, fluffy, pigtails poured out of the sides of her head, while she wore a black apron over a black uniform.

"Hello, Kunogi-chan."

"Hello, Tsukishiro!" Kunogi Himawari smiled honestly and cheerfully, while closing her reading material shut, "How may I help you today?"

"Could I talk to your manager?"

"Ah... well, I'll see what I can do. One of us has to man the desk no matter what, you see."

"Aren't the others here?" Yukito asked, somewhat curious. Himawari shrugged.

"They are, but..."

A loud crash emanated past the curtains behind Kunogi's back, followed by sounds of a scuffle.

"Domeki, you asshole! I knew it! You were copying my homework, weren't you!"

"Hm..."

"Stop trying to ignore me and answer the question!"

"Even if I did, there wasn't much to copy."

"Y-You... bastard!"

Crash.

Himawari gestured to the noise behind her, giving a smug roll of her eyes.

Yukito shrugged, "That's not very convincing, coming from you, Kunogi."

"I suppose. I just wanted to share with someone how my day has been."

"I see... well, fight on, Kunogi, but I really have to see the manager." Yukito cheerfully resumed asking.

The girl turned around in her seat, craned her neck back towards the commotion in the back room, and called loudly.

"Watanukiiiii..."

The sound of battle stopped, and instantly, a skinny boy the same age as Himawari, dressed in the same uniform, slipped through the curtains, eyes positively glowing with joy behind those thick glasses of his.

"Yes, Himawariiii-chan?" Watanuki cooed.

"Mr. Tsukishiro wants to talk to the manager, but I have to man the desk. If you're free, could you take him to her?"

"Oh, I'm always free for anything you ask, Himawari!" Watanuki said, trying to blind the other with the glow of his awe, before stopping, when his expression stiffened, "But..."

"But?" Yukito asked.

"Well... I could take you to her, but she's been in a bad mood all day today. I don't know about you, but I've seen her when she gets nasty. We've already kicked out some other guys today, because she didn't want to do her job. You sure you want to see her?"

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind seeing me."

"Well... alright, it's your funeral." Watanuki shrugged, before turning to Himawari, "I'll see you later, Himawari-chan...!"

"Take care, Watanuki-san." The girl waved back with all the energy of a good friend.

Another boy's head stuck his way through the curtains, his unmoved gaze offsetting Himawari's cheer and Watanuki's passion, now turned into ire directed at the new face.

"Ah, Watanuki, when you're done showing Tsukishiro around, could you help me set back all the stuff you knocked over?"

"Shut up, Domeki! You're the one who knocked them over! I was just... stuck to you at the moment! Don't pin the mistake on me! Clean up your own mess! That'll teach you for copying my homework!"

"Kinda harsh, innit...?"

"Shut up!"

Yukito tried to move things along, "Um, Watanuki... if we could just..."

* * *

The heart of the Shop, where the real business of information vending took place, was actually on the second floor, where the owner and manager made her lair.

Yukito made his way up the narrow stairs, and waved his way into the musty, smoke filled room, Watanuki's voice calling behind him.

"Manager! Tsukishiro wants to see you. Just give a holler when you want me to drag his body out the back door!"

"Hmnngh..."

Yukito looked around. The lair was still pretty much as he last recalled it. The room had once been tastefully decorated in the frills and furniture that tried to convey an aura of Persia, with deep reds and warm colors, and the golds of mosaics and ivy-like wreathing.

Near all of it had been covered up, though. Though it had started with a simple shelf holding them all, over time, one thing led to another, and now all the floor and nearly every usable flat surface was now hosting piles upon piles of folders and portfolios. Most of it was stacked properly, but here and there, you could see a collapsed city of paper, spilling about. Flat against one wall was a wide screen television that had no support. Wires trailed from the back, while the whole thing was leaned back, and tilted on one corner, as the whole thing seemed to have just been tossed onto the stacks of paper one day.

The faint sounds of a news broadcast and talk show continued on, images flashing on the screen.

In front of Yukito was a large divan, back turned towards him, and faced towards the off-kilter television. From the top of it, smoke moved in trails upward to join their brethren in the cloud that stuck to the top of the ceiling. For an instant, Yukito saw the long, thin pipe rise over the top of of the lazy seat, before dipping down, whoever on the other side taking a quiet, deep breath from it.

"Ms. Ichihara...?" Yukito toyed with speaking, "Are you feeling well? I heard from Watanuki downstairs..."

"Don't bore me with gay banter, Tsukishiro. For your sake, I hope you're here for something worth my time." Svelte smoke breathed out and complained from the other side of the divan's back. A pipe rose from the top of the divan, and waved in a circle, illustrating the point, "Just an hour ago, there was some... man, asking me to check if the horse races were rigged by a rival group_. Horse races!_ Why should I care about something like that. Nobody pays attention to the important things..."

"Like Clow Reed's death?"

"...Yes, something like that. That's an interesting case, and nobody will pay attention to it. Even the police assume it's just some mugging..."

"Well, if it will make you feel better, I came here because Hiiragizawa-oyabun wants to know more about it."

"Hm..."

The pipe lowered, and Ichihara Yuuko's (The only name she ever called herself by, though anyone with half a brain knew it was about as genuine as bullshit.) head rose to look at Yukito with her blood red eyes, set in pallid white skin that seem to have not seen the sun in years, through curtains of silky black hair that stretched downward past the back of her head in a river styx.

She regarded Yukito for several long seconds, before giving a derisive snort and falling back behind the divan, before her hand, holding a pipe waved him over.

"Come over in front of me. I don't want to raise my head to see you."

"A-Ah, very well." Yukito gave a helpless grin, before following her instructions, walking around the long couch and interposing himself between Yuuko and the pirated BS TBS.

Yuuko had one hand raised, while resting her head atop it, as she frowned heavily at Yukito. The pale arm jumped right out of the voluminous kimono she was wearing, which came in kaleidoscopic layers upon layers of diamond patterned reds, blacks, whites, and purples. He hoped his smile wouldn't inadvertently get him killed or something. Or humiliated across all of Tokyo's television networks.

Yuuko was having a hard time deciding whether or not to deal with him, kick him out, or humiliate him across all of Tokyo's television networks.

"Depending on how you phrase your question, I'm going to give you nothing for an answer, or I'll give you three, one true, one false, and one complimentary."

"A-Ah, thank you, Ms. Ichihara. I suppose all I can do is ask. We know that Clow Reed had an important package taken from him by some foreigner. We would like to know who would be behind this."

"Hm... what a dumb question. But I suppose it pays respect to the late Clow. Ah, no rest for the wicked, no peace for the dead. The good die young, evil lives long, and all's right in the world..."

"For better or for worse, I guess, Ms. Ichihara." Yukito unanswered.

Yuuko grumbled to herself as she pushed herself up to get off her velvet throne. Bare feet touched the rug, while she walked around her piles.

"Well, that's the easiest answer of all, considering all the kinds of circumstantial evidence I've collected in the past few hours... where was it..."

Yuuko pushed over one of her stacks, letting papers crash everywhere, while she pulled out a red, hardcover binder. Yukito fought the urge to inform Ichihara about the inherent threat in smoking in a room completely filled with paper and rugs.

"People don't simply rob one of the UN Party's imminent politicians for the money. People steal their suitcases. The Yakuza are all insular. They wouldn't hire foreigners to do their work, especially not after what the Washimine fiasco back in the 90s proved."

She turned to Yukito, handing the folder to him. "Therefore, the only one to hire foreigners are other foreigners, and there's only one group in Tokyo that's equipped enough to do such a thing. That's your genuine fact."

Yukito took a moment to open the binder, and found himself looking at a yearly shipping catalog of a company, its logo being a rudimentary coat of arms mock up.

"Queens Shipping? I've never heard of them."

"And the CEO of the company tries very hard to keep it that way." Yuuko answered, throwing herself heavily back into her seat, while taking another heavy breath from her pipe.

"So... they would be most likely the ones who have Mr. Reed's parcel?"

"Well, they have had something, since last night. Here's an interesting fact, rumor has it, whatever they have, they're going to sell it soon."

Yukito blinked. Yuuko's game of "three facts" was something familiar with most customers, being her favorite way to play vague. If he hadn't paid closer attention, he would have missed exactly what the truth was, given how nonchalantly she had stated it.

"You mean... these people, Queens Shipping, they have something, but they can't sell it? Something happened?"

Yuuko smirked, "How terrible. I told a lie that might have misled you. That's why I'm giving you a complimentary detail."

"What's that?"

"Earlier today, someone came in, asking about Clow, too. Did you know what that person asked?"

"What?"

"That person asked, "Did Alister Clow Reed have any friends he trusted?"."

* * *

Watari leaned over the counter. Night had fallen, and it was boring as hell. No one seemed to be coming in. Not even Sakura had passed by, though he wasn't sure where she went. She had almost religiously returned to CHAT! CHAT! CHAT! for to stay the nights since she first arrived, and her not appearing was unusual, and it worried the old man.

He would like to say he didn't care, but unusual things happening usually led to something bad. All Watari could do was loiter and read his newspaper. At the very least, Sakura hadn't cleaned out her locker behind his back, meaning she might still return.

So he waited.

The front doors slammed open and shut, and Watari turned his head for a second. All he got were four men descending the stairs, which mean they were certainly not related to Sakura in any way. He turned back to reading his paper.

"It's 20 dollars for admission, and you can stay as long as you like, though there's a charge for food and drink. If you're a group, I'm also offering group rates-"

Click.

That stopped Watari from talking any more. Looking up, he found the muzzle of a massive revolver pointed at his forehead. The weapon fit in the hand of a foreign man, who staring the old man down with his pitiless and pitless brown eyes, black hat sitting jaunt to one side of his head. The other three men moved past, one securing the doors, while another entered the cafe, apparently checking around.

Watari gulped, keeping what cool he could, when the reality that the floor behind him could turn pink at any moment.

"Sorry, _jii-san_, I ain't here for Counterstrike. I'm just waiting for someone."

"W-What... who... who do you want...?"

The man reached into one of his coat pockets, and pulled out a crumpled, printed image of Sakura, an image capture of her sitting, somewhere, unaware a photo had been taken of her. The photo was pushed into Watari's face.

"I was just asking around, and I heard she was staying here."

"S-She hasn't come back tonight." Watari stammered, struggling to explain. Colt snorted.

"Well, that sure sucks for you, huh. Because my friends and I are going to wait here till she does, got it?"

Colt pulled the hammer back on his revolver, and Watari felt a bead of sweat run down the back of his head, and down his neck.

* * *

_Nobody's Culture Shock at Becoming Somebody: _**Tattooed Life

* * *

**

Next Feature:

_Your Neck Clamped Between Ivory Fangs:_** Reservoir Dogs**


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